


open the wild inside

by greekdemigod



Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/F, Mostly smut and angst tbh, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:20:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24095734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greekdemigod/pseuds/greekdemigod
Summary: Beltane knows what's right.
Relationships: Raelle Collar/Tally Craven
Comments: 30
Kudos: 131





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to be post this, but there barely being any Raelly fics on ao3 is a disgrace—so here we are.  
> Special shoutout to Leanne and Jamie for getting me into this show.

Her step keeps faltering. There is exquisite power in the song that guides her, that pumps through her veins, and her limbs move like they were crafted for the purpose of this dance, like she has always known the rhythm—yet her step keeps faltering. Veering slightly to the left, into a bane away from Gerrit, when all she yearns for is to move towards him.

There’s a streak of sunlight in the corner of her eye—she twirls—the blur morphs into bright hair for once not braided. She looks at Raelle, who is laughing for the first time all day, eyes crinkling with her mirth, finally able to breathe. Even if it’s only for a brief moment, her friend is happy, and Tally is glad to see it.

Every breath is charged slipping into her lungs, the promise of Beltane a tangible, sweet taste on her tongue. When she jumps into Gerrit’s arms, she is certain that it’s right, because that is how it’s supposed to work. She kisses him and everything inside her sings.

He is gentle with her. The way he cradles her, the way he kisses her witch’s mark, it’s like he is afraid to break her. The bark of the tree rasps against her, he touches her, they join together and all of it is nice, it feels powerful, but—it doesn’t feel right.

It’s not until she reconnects with her unit and she goes up into the craziness of Beltane, the giddiness of it, that she recognizes her step is still faltering. There is still music thrumming in her ears. Her breath catches when she notices herself moving towards Raelle, feels the crescendo in her gut.

Everything quietens when they touch. Raelle’s arm drags only loosely against her back but it alights every nerve-ending.

She dances over to Abigail while the shock washes over her. Tally tries not to let it show, but her body is magnetized to Raelle’s now, crackling when she goes too far, her skin buzzing when she nears.

Raelle’s face is glowing so beautifully, the stress out of her eyes, the frown lines gone from her forehead. “Hey, how’s your head?” she asks, tongue tripping up over the things she almost blurted out instead—what are you thinking? Are you soft? Can I kiss you?

“Actually, I didn’t even notice—it’s gone. Completely.”

Could she have been hearing it too? No, no, she tells herself, surely not. Except... it could, couldn’t it? Maybe, potentially? It’s what Beltane is about—what the Reel is about—what...

But she throws herself into the conversation of the wedding instead, ignoring the flood of memories of Raelle in their uniform—it should not have this effect anymore, all of them are constantly wearing it, it’s just—but Goddess, it looks so good on her. She’s always thought it. Just like this suit does.

It doesn’t have to mean anything.

“You’ve been quiet.”

She has been so consumed by her thoughts—taking on an uncharacteristic erratic energy, a whirlwind of flashes—that she didn’t notice they’re almost at their suite already.

“Oh, yeah,” she giggles, toying some with her hair, trying to play it up to being freshly Beltane’d. It is a big deal—she’s a virgin no more. Her mark hums with untapped power. “Sorry.”

Abigail gives her a smile and a nudge before she sidles away, calling over her shoulder, “I have some more business to attend to first.”

Raelle grins as she opens the door and gestures for her to enter first. She is the very picture of gallantry, but there’s something dark and troubled in her eyes, a hint of storm in her blue eyes. Everything Gerrit did had made her smile, blush, preen—the mere act of Raelle looking at her like this makes her breathless.

“Was it good?”

“Sorry?” Tally has a hand on the wooden frame of their bed, bare foot perched on the first rung up to her top bunk.

“You suddenly playing coy? Is it because Abigail is gone?”

“Oh.” Her cheeks flush. “No, I was just—it was good, yeah. Nice.”

“ _Nice_?”

The look that flits across Raelle’s face could be so many things. She always has such a complicated web of thoughts and feelings displaying. Tally can tell they’re there, but can’t decipher. She might be a natural in scrying, but this—this she sucks at.

“It’s not supposed to be just nice, you know.”

Raelle shrugs, and it draws Tally’s attention to her shoulders, the suit jacket clinging to them. The hand that settles at the single button, almost casually undoes it. Her mouth dries at the sight of so much skin, going from the waistline of her pants, across her abdomen, to the valley between her breasts that she has been showing all day.

With a huff, she detaches from their bed, faces her squarely. “Then what _is_ it supposed to be?”

“Liberation. Breaking the chains.” Raelle presses her tongue against her teeth as she smiles, looking somewhere past her, through her. “It’s supposed to feel fucking good.”

Tally walks up to her. Every step feels sure. Her inner compass hones in on Raelle like it’s her true north. She fists a hand into the very, very nice suit jacket. “I think I was meant to dance with you.”

“Yeah?”

Her fingers dance against the scar by Raelle’s mouth, the blemish that makes her all the more attractive. Tally looks down, eyes sliding from blue to pink, her eyelashes breaking up the vision of Raelle’s slightly open mouth and slightly quickened breath.

“I kept moving towards you, but—I thought—Gerrit—”

“It was like wading through water to get away from you.”

The truth crashes over them like a wave, and morning light breaks over them as Raelle laces her hand into Tally’s hair and uses the grip to bring her in, crush their mouths together in unbridled passion.

Is it still Beltane that guides them now, in the way Raelle presses into her, obliges her unspoken pleas with a swipe of her tongue, a nip of her teeth that teases at her bottom lip. She is not quiet, but this isn’t spellwork either, these little noises that spill from her.

Raelle is breathy—is a muffled groan when Tally snakes her hand under the jacket, finding warm skin over hip bone, ribs, spine—is a swallowed moan when she drags her nails down.

The bed jostles when they stumble against it, Raelle pushes her up against it, rucks up her dress and pushes against her thighs, head dipping to her neck to lavish hot, open-mouthed kisses against the column of her throat.

Tally is glad for the sturdy frame behind her, for the support that keeps her upright.

When Raelle nuzzles up to her mark and grazes her teeth against it, she feels such a spike of tantalizing electricity at her wrists that she knows _this_ is what it’s supposed to be.

“Wait here,” Raelle murmurs, her usually lovely voice now low and breathy. Tally can’t compose herself in the few moments it takes Raelle to go and lock the door, knows she can’t so doesn’t even try, she just reaches behind her back and unzips her dress.

At least Raelle has already turned around when she moves her shoulders just so to let the dress slip off of her.

They collide back together like an explosion, and they bodily maneuver into the bottom bunk, pushing at blankets to create space. Tally settles into the mattress, drags at Raelle to have her settle on top of her. The warm, solid weight of her invades all her senses.

Raelle kisses her everywhere, leaves echoes of her mouth drenched deep into Tally’s skin. Raelle kisses her thigh so sweetly, a stark contrast, before she starts licking at her, _into_ her, and—oh. _Oh_.

There is nothing gentle about this, cradling, fragile. It does feel like liberation. Like breaking the chains. Like _so fucking good_.

It feels like the charging of a fire whirl, the slow but intense curling of heat and flame into something destructible. Tally wants to keep looking, but can’t, her body writhing and her muscles seizing—she needs to focus or she’ll drift apart into magic molecules, it feels that intense. Her eyes squeezed shut, her hips bucking off the mattress into Raelle’s hands, she rides the tension until she topples into momentary oblivion.

Raelle, mouth glistening, neon blue makeup smudged, the colors of a blizzard but the warmth of an inferno, crawls back up her body. Her fingers tighten under her chin, tilt her head sideways. “You’re burning bright like a fucking beacon.”

Her whole body goes static when the right mouth touches to her mark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't really have a plan for this story, just kinda need to write their smut and their angst after i watch episodes because i ship them so hard. thank you for reading!

Things between Raelle and her have been different since Beltane—a little awkward, a little charged, a little wonderful. They don’t really talk about it, but most nights, somewhere between going to sleep and waking up, Raelle has climbed up into the top bunk and snuggled into her back.

Sometimes, they disentangle and that’s it. Sometimes, there’s a hand in her pajama bottoms when she stirs, an open-mouthed kiss sliding against her neck, leaving a trail of intense prickling.

Tally is going crazy with it.

She wants to know what this is. Beltane, the Reel, it delivered her Raelle in all its confusing, messy quality. It has to mean _something_... doesn’t it? She _wants_ it to mean something—it takes her breath away every time she catches herself wanting it. Wanting her.

Goddess, she feels so much for Raelle. It is a very compounded, complicated thing.

It’s why her heart drops when she finds her container of salva empty. Why her heart takes wings when she starts digging through Raelle’s stuff and finds it so far unused—she finds other things too, things that make her mouth drop open at the length of— and then she’s blushing.

The past few weeks have been her only experiences so far, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out how it’s supposed to be used. She files knowledge of its existence away for _another time_.

They have been doing their dance. Tally has become a much lighter sleeper, so that when Raelle gets into bed with her, she usually wakes up—and she might not be experienced, but she’s eager, and Raelle doesn’t seem to mind being rolled onto her back, kissed down her stomach, spread open for Tally to crawl in between her thighs and taste her.

It’s not as easy to access, but she likes biting and kissing Raelle’s mark as much as Raelle does hers.

 _Another time_ supplies itself a couple of weeks later, on a night when she’s feeling particularly bold and just a smidge of fed-up with never _talking_ about any of it. For once, she nimbly drops to the floor and gets into Raelle’s bed before the usual reverse can happen.

Raelle’s sleepy smile unfurls ever-so-slowly, but it makes Tally nervous with the intense effect it has on her every time.

She also doesn’t have experience with crushes, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out either.

Their kissing never takes long to heat up. Bare legs sliding together, thighs slotting, the humping is usually well underway before long. Minutes before Raelle starts tugging at her shirt, or starts kissing her neck, because kissing is intimate and sex is not really—and Tally is starting to understand that Raelle finds that a lot easier.

“I want to try something different,” she whispers, her tone low enough that it shouldn’t reach the other side of the room. That’s an advantage witches have over regular folk, Tally thinks—they’re so used to modifying their sound, it’s been really easy not to get caught.

“Sure.” There’s so much naked trust in that statement, the easy deliverance of it after barely any thought. “What is it?”

She reaches underneath the bed for the locker, the object she has been thinking about, the hefty silicone that she can only just about close her fingers around.

“How’d you know I have that?” Raelle murmurs, but she doesn’t sound mad, doesn’t look ma. There’s just a quirk to her eyebrow and mischief dazzling in her eyes.

“I went through your stuff the other day when I was worried about you. With—you know—the salva, and—” They don’t talk about anything, but they _definitely_ don’t talk about Scylla. If Tally did some thinking on it, it would unearth too much jealousy and anxiety. “So, I found this, and I’m—curious.”

“Right. Well, give—”

“No.” She keeps it out of Raelle’s reach, grinning. “ _I_ want to use it.”

“Oh.” Raelle studies her, as much as they can in the relative dark. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

Tally sits upright, excitement burning brighter than her arousal does as she rolls her shorts down her legs. Raelle kneels behind her and takes her shirt off before she lets Tally continue, kisses her shoulder as she watches and eventually helps Tally put the strap-on on. Raelle swats her hands away and tightens the straps until it sits snug around her waist.

Raelle kisses her neck before she starts taking off her own clothes and that Tally will never tire of. They’re the same age, but their bodies are so different, and she’s obsessed with every inch of the other girl, with her firm thighs and skinny limbs. She is incredibly strong, but life in the Cession is etched into her deeply.

“You getting in here or what?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tally chuckles, ignoring the heat that flits to her face, burns bright from her cheeks.

Surprising her, Raelle rolls onto her stomach, and fuck, yeah, that does something to Tally. She sits up on her knees between Raelle’s legs, the mattress dipping beneath her weight. Supported by her hands, she lowers herself, almost as if she’s about to do push-ups, but she’s doing something much more important.

The ridges of Raelle’s spine push up into her skin; Tally kisses up that column, slowly, softly, her lips a ghostly brush. She can feel the girl beneath her shiver, or contain her impatience. Eyes meet hers when she gets to the top, a dark look cast over her shoulder.

Tally nuzzles into her neck, buries her head there, closes her eyes to focus. Raelle is wet, so wet against the back of her fingers, fingers that guide her, that hold as she pushes in.

The movements are very awkward for a couple of minutes of her trying to find the right way to do this, but Raelle has her arm up behind her to lace her hand into Tally’s hair, has her head pressed into her pillow to suppress her groans, and they’re pressed so close together that she can feel every jump of her breath against her chest.

She digs her knees harder into the mattress for purchase and starts grinding differently and instantly she feels the way Raelle responds to her, squirming with pleasure, and she knows she’s got it.

Despite her military training, Tally can only hold herself up so long, but leaning down on Raelle makes it feel even better. The rutting pounds pleasure into her too, so that they devolve into a writhing mess together, Tally pushing and Raelle taking, their heavy breathing smothered, Raelle’s hands twisting into the sheets and biting into her pillow.

Tally has never felt as badass as when Raelle bucks into her with her orgasm, clenching so hard that she can feel it vibrate into her fucking bones.

With her hands on Raelle’s hips, she keeps pumping into her, despite how sensitive she must be, because Tally is so _close_ that she needs this. It’s not the continuous pressure that tips her over but the whiny sounds that Raelle is trying to swallow, trying to muffle, but she can hear them and _fuck_ , fuck, she’s never heard anything so hot in her life that she can’t help it.

She rides her orgasm out pushing Raelle deeper into the mattress, leaning heavily on top of her, her head pressed against the nape of her neck.

“Stay,” Raelle mutters, voice hoarse, when Tally begins to move. “Just a little.”

So she does until it becomes uncomfortable, and then she gets the contraption off of her and kicks it to the corner of the bed so she can get cuddled by Raelle and drift off to sleep.

Abigail stomps a little too loudly when she wakes up—or purposefully, probably—before slamming out of the room. The two of them rouse slowly, noticing first the soreness and only then the rest of their senses.

Tally clears her throat, swallows, takes a deep breath. “I think we should talk.”

“Oh,” Raelle blinks slowly, looking over at her. “Sure, yeah. We can do that.”

But Tally can tell from her tone of voice and the way she’s suddenly avoiding her gaze that Raelle doesn’t want to talk.

And her hunch is confirmed when, for the next few weeks, Raelle doesn’t sleep in their room again.


End file.
